Not Even 9:30 A.M. Yet: No Wonder It's The Darkest Day Since 1638

Today is a classic example of how daily challenges often interfere with my self-care.  This Monday morning held relative promise.  The kids' doctor appointment would allow us to sleep in a little later.

It was supposed to be my shower day.  I even made scrambled eggs.


As I went to call the school to let them know Hermione Granger would be late, the phone line was dead. I checked the phone battery, connection, etc.  Contacted Alpha Male via email for help.  He waited an hour listening to Verizon muzak with no response.  It's almost noon now and no phone. 


After getting  the message to the school via Pony Express, I tried to brush the 4th Stooge's unbrushable hair. He lost a Lego arm under the fridge and refused to eat unless I moved the fridge.  With some heaving, no Lego arm could be found. Open cereal boxes from the top of the fridge fell to the floor.

Figuring I could pick up the junk later, I went to pick out clean clothes.  Then, I heard Hermione Granger scream.  Stopped mid bra strap closure and ran to the kitchen. The Harvard valedictorian had opened the kitchen cabinet, rummaged through the garbage and re-assembled remnants of the Thanksgiving carcass all over the kitchen floor.

Between refrigerator junk and the Harvard valedictorian's impromptu floor feast, the kitchen floor needed Hazmat.  Having no time to thoroughly clean up, eat eggs, or shower , I ran to my bedroom and slipped on the least dirty thing I could find on the floor. I wore pajamas from two weeks ago.


As I'm telling the kids to get their coats on, the 4th Stooge's fleece outfit is completely covered in dog hair. It looks like he was sharing Harvard valedictorian's feast and rolling around in it while I was getting dressed.


Pajamaed parent, hairy kid and Hermione Granger piled in the car -- running late, for a change.  A new nurse calls us into the office. Hermione Granger is leading the way, since she is the only one who appears to have it together.  Then, the nurse tells her to make a left down the hall, and Hermione goes in the opposite direction.

"You don't know your right from left?!," the nurse asks astonished.

 "You don't know the morning I've had!," replied Hermione Granger.


My psychic powers reveal this is not going to be good.

Hermione bravely goes first for her second flu shot.  (Yes, I know there is a mist.  As a nurse, I have my reasons -- and it's not torture -- for requesting the shot.)  The nurse wants her to sit on my lap.  I tell her that she's copasetic with the shot and she doesn't have to worry about Hermione kicking her (although I could tell she wanted too for the nurse's snarky question.)  The nurse insists and refuses to give the shot unless she's on my lap. I have no problem, except my daughter is four inches shy of my height.  Frankly, I wouldn't stand a chance against her.

The 4th Stooge and I notice the nurse is taking as long as to deliver the vaccine as it takes to give morphine (which should be given over 5 minutes).  Through ESP, I can tell the 4th Stooge is planning his escape. 


I gave Hermione Granger a slight push to get up after her shot and fly across the room to catch the 4th Stooge, who had his hand on the door handle.  I pick him up and thrust him on my lap.

He's squirming and screaming as I try to take his dog-hair filled shirt off.  Dog hair is flying everywhere and has now covered the nurse and myself.  I'm shushing to the 4th Stooge as if Harvey Karp's Happiest Baby on the Block tricks will still work on an elementary school age child.

I get the arm exposed and have the 4th Stooge in a Yoga Stranglehold pose.  He's going to turn into the Hulk any second. I signal to the nurse to make it snappy.  The nurse goes to give him a shot and gives this "one, two, three" routine, which signals the 4th Stooge to kicker her right in the kisser.

"You can't kick me!," the nurse yells.

"I just did!," he yells back.

I apologize profusely and check if she is OK, fully empathetic to the occupational hazards of pediatric medicine.  I know scolding the Hulk now won't help, as it will only make him madder, stronger, and greener.

While I'd like to give him the shot myself, I know she can't allow it.  I try my self-invented Yoga Hulk Pose and have him straight-jacketed in between my legs and arms.  Obviously annoyed, the nurse gives it to the 4th Stooge but good, keeping the shot in his arm a little longer than necessary.  His screams are worse than the combined cries of the twin infants getting shot with vaccines next door.

Defeated, the Hulk quickly turns back into a sulky, sad 4th Stooge.  We spend another 10 minutes in the office weeping. I apologize and thank the nurse again.  When he settles down, I remind the 4th Stooge that it's not OK to kick people and he needs to apologize to the nurse.

"But mom, she shot me!  She shot me!," he pleads.

Coincidentally, today is the "The Darkest Day in 372 years" in North America.  Damn those lunar eclipses. I should be grateful they don't occur more often.

It's almost noon and the day has yet to start.  Maybe next time, I'll get to those Latest Indulgences.